


Help!

by JohnHeckinLennon



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure John Lennon, M/M, Multi, Sad, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 15:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21496726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnHeckinLennon/pseuds/JohnHeckinLennon
Summary: How much longer can John take this?He doesn't know.(This is my first fic on here hhhhh)
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Help!

**Author's Note:**

> TW: suicidal thoughts, self harm. Don't read if this upsets you please! ❤

They were living the dream in the beginning. Running stage to stage, singing their hearts out. All the birds, the screaming girls almost wetting themselves from the sight of them.

Until it died down. And the dream was no longer fun. 

That's how John felt. He had wanted this all his life, to have his name heard across England, maybe even the states. 

But now all he wanted was some peace and quiet, to be left alone. He wanted the screaming to stop, not only from the girls below them but from inside his own head as well. 

He was miserable, and he knew that. The others didn't. They only saw snarky Lennon, not missing a beat on any comments or jokes. 

They didn't see him for what he actually felt. Just a front. Angry ol lennon. 

There was more to him than that but he didn't like to show it. He thought it made him weak to show emotions. People would probably think he's queer.

And that's where the problem lies. John Lennon wasn't a queer, no, he didn't like admitting that. He liked birds. but what he hated was he also fancied blokes, which at the time is strictly illegal. 

What was poor Lennon supposed to do to satisfy his needs? 

Hide. 

Nobody truly knew John except Paul, and even Paul didn't know John's thought about other men. All Paul thought was that John was a straight man. 

Paul, his best mate. But even now Paul seemed far away. Distant. 

John felt insecure. Maybe Paul didn't see him the way John saw him.

Does Paul even care about him? 

This plagued John. He knew it was silly to think, of course Paul was his best mate but he couldn't help but think it was a façade.

What if it his? What would he do then? 

Well he'd lose it. Just like he is now.

Losing it on the bathroom floor with blood staining his white dress shirt. He'd have to get rid of the shirt now. 

But he didn't care about that now, as the blood slowly slides down his arm. He thinks. 

Would anything change if he weren't here? Probably not. They'd get over him. Hell, some people would probably be happy. 

Some. 

Most. 

But he can't think about that just yet. No, no.

Or maybe he can. A few more on his arm and he could blissfully go.

Yeah, it would be better. Everyone would be better off without John. John brought chaos, that was his middle name. His whole shtick. Troublemaker, always has been always will be. That was just *John*.

He hated that. 

More importantly, he hated himself. He hates himself a lot. He was unattractive, to himself and to others now.

What did those papers call him? 

The Fat Beatle. That's what he is, just the fat beatle. The Smart Beatle title had been stripped right from him and was replaced with this. What he hated was that most of the papers were calling him that now. They're trying to get under his skin, kill him from the inside. 

Well they were doing a damn good job of it. John's self esteem plummeted. He was okay before, didn't think too highly of himself but was quite confident. Though, that's gone now. He wasn't attractive to himself. He had 'let himself go' in his eyes.

Like he was ever there.

But lets not stray from the situation. 

John's bleeding and doesn't have long to drag his sorry ass up before the bleeding becomes too much. 

But maybe he wants the bleeding to become too much. Maybe he should let it. 

No, he doesn't deserve that bliss. 

So what does he do? He gets up, and barely bothers to clean his arms. He wraps a bandage on both, and cleans up the blood that had made its way to the floor. He took the razor, and tossed it in the trash. Nobody would notice.

He removes his white shirt, and exits the bathroom. He gets rid of the shirt, throwing it in the bin and grabbing a new shirt, a black long sleeve one. Kept him warm, and due to it being in the winter months, nobody would bat an eye. 

But he doesn't have to worry about anybody right now. 

So he slides in to bed next to Paul. 

"Hey John,"

"Hey Macca."

"Where've you been? Left bed an hour ago." 

"Got a glass of water."

Paul hummed. 

"Well, goodnight John."

"Night, princess." John smirked, snickering. 

Everything was fine now. Everything was fine until John would lose it again. That's just his cycle. 

But,  
Right now he's okay next to Paul.


End file.
